Tree of Deceit
by xkaiistarx
Summary: She comes back, even as the ash bided her away. He knows she would, for he too strained against the scarlet threads that weaved them apart. Norway, Vietnam. NorViet. Fantasy AU


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 _Once upon a time, a doe tried to take the forbidden fruit._

…

He was supposed to have been asleep, warm and comforted and ignorant of the duty he was made to bear. But then the wind had blown, and the rare tinge of sun had chosen to halo his domain. Heat seeped through his fingers, slowly but surely, rousing him into awareness with a gentle fluttering of caresses.

The chains beneath his wrists grow taut as he stirs and attempts to stretch, soft ribbon around his neck a loose reminder of how scant his freedom really was. His curse was an eternal one; etched deep into the soils of the land from the days of old. To be trapped in this lonely space lest the unbreakable spell lifts, how could he defy now, when he is merely one beneath the history of many.

It is the small things though, that he finds pleasure taking victory in. Fingers maneuver the tenacious strings, plucking fruit from a beckoning branch with ease. Sinking teeth into the juicy flesh he shifts into a position away from his prison, watching the ends of the empty grove glow silver in the light. His feet sink into the layer of ash as he inches forward, gaze set longingly forward at a distance further away than he could ever imagine. He remains relentless even as the restraints tug him back, squeezing his limbs until the sting almost hurts. The fruit falls to the ground, forgotten.

Leaves crackle as he pushes himself forward, the crisp echo dimming with each muddied step until the sound of newly ste-

 _Oh._

The hazy blur of grey through his sight evaporates as his head jerks up, body freezing at the gaze of another.

Golden eyes stare at him from the very edges of the grove, wary and startled and all too real as he swallows the lump in his throat. If this was but a cruel trick… Her parted mouth had gone still, but he traces the curves and shapes of her form and finds life flickering within. His senses sing to him, raking down the stranger with unquenchable need and conveying what his eyes could not. Sound, smell, presence. Greedy, too greedy, but he does not remember the last time his eyes gazed upon something living, something breathing. The creature takes a sharp breath, and he, breathless, finds himself praying for the illusion to last just a little longer.

 _I'm sorry…_ A soft voice, weak from their shared gaze. He soaks in it, wanting more. _I didn't mean to intrude._

The stranger straightens, and distress springs through his veins, curling at the base of his throat as he calls out.

 _Don't go._

His hitch of breath was audible in the cold air. Red string tightens between his ankles as he stretches out, desperation burning the dull indigoes that reflected his soul. The stranger trembles, the fluttering of gold beholding her want and curiosity. One foot sinks into the soft ash, forward, but her ears perk up at an unknown sound before she could take another step. Alarm graces her features and she backs away clumsily. He watches her, motionless as she leaves, the helpless twist in his gut roaring into a fire.

When the single indent in ash finally smooths over, he slumps forward, disbelief and strangling ribbon clouding his mind until bitten lips turn blue and he has to drag himself back. Light wanes, leaving him alone under growing shadows. He burns the image of molten gold into his memory and prays he does not forget.

.

...

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The days passed. She comes back.

Her voice, shaky with apprehension, wakes him from stupor, pushing him forward until cool ribbon tightens traitorously over his neck. He hardly cares about his haggard appearance; sunken eyes haunted with insomnia and dulling colours of a season. Reds and yellows and browns; all warnings for a distant time approaching. He has never felt more relief that it was she and not the manifestations of a dying earth that had come.

 _Hello-_ The gentle exhale melts off her lips as she takes frantic steps forward, widened eyes fixed on the constrictions that kept him bounded. His hands slog through the tangled weaves, tugging limply at the coils that pressed down his throat and cut off his voice. Pinkish welts form crescent indentions in his skin, distorting his frame until he was but a hulking shadow half concealed in the shadows of foliage. Metal chains screech once in defiance, hitting the ground heavily as he recoils back and tries to breathe.

The stranger stops at the painful sound, hands outstretched and wavering in the middle of the grove. She hesitates again, shifting back as the ash threatens to sink her to her knees. If not for the dryness in his throat he would have whined at their growing distance.

It is a long time before she speaks again, soft and cautious. _Who are you? How did you end up here? What is your name?_

 _A cursed being, since forever, he… doesn't have one._ Even if he did, with no one to utter it the name would have been lost to time, lost to the repetitiousness of his mortal coil.

 _Would you like one?_ She pauses, waits for his surprise to fade. A choked little laugh leaves his throat, garbled and stiff. Something unlike the cold coil of isolation twists within him.

 _I much rather know yours._

The startled flutter of her lashes as she averts her head bashfully has him unconsciously mirror the same. He wished they were closer so he could glimpse the expression in her eyes.

 _Is there anything I can do to help?_

 _Please, keep me company._

Coloured stains brush down his arms as he licks his lips, aware of the pull that beckons him forward. The not-so-unfamiliar stranger blinks, glances back once before looking at him. The same unknown expression flickers in their depths, and he sighs tenderly as she eases, fingers cupping skyward to catch falling flecks of grey.

She tells him stories; tales spanning the travels she had made, of the sounds and tastes and colour he could otherwise not experience trapped in his prison. Out there where the sun was never lacklustre and decay did not touch the bountiful earth. He drinks it all in, feeling lighter than he ever did with binds over his body. When she departs it takes all of his will to not call her back, the temptation so great he bit his tongue till it bled. He knew all too well it would be selfish, and as cruel as he is he would never desire more of what she gave.

More days pass. The moon waxes, then wanes. Waxes again. She returns, always, even as the ash bided her away. He knows she would, for he too strained against the scarlet threads that weaved them apart. Yet the lingering fear that she would leave and never come back persists. Each visit she wades a little further into the mountain of ash. A little more daring, a little less afraid. He dearly hopes it remains that way.

The stories continue; scents of flowers and berries, cooing of the seasonal birds, the way water at a certain stream faraway would shimmer like a precious stone. Never about her, but he learns to read between the soft intonations of her mannerisms. The latest she was close enough for him to notice the wistful glint as she recalls the fond memory. He watches the way her fingers fidget, clasping together as her mouth parts with fond remembrance. He never noticed before, but now he traces the delicate curve of her ear as she tucks her hair back, soft auburn so sweet and mild looking in the weak daylight, watches the subtle lift of her lips and finds himself breathless in a long, long time.

Sharpness stabs his stomach, and he looks down to see the blunt end of a metal chain pressing uncomfortably against the skin. He leans back, brushing away the offending chain, the movement catching her attention and halting her story.

 _Is everything alright?_

Her voice murmurs and a chill shoots through him. Heat burns beneath the bruising, and he forces away the thorny thoughts, fisting balls of wounded string with constraint.

He learns to want.

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...

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He wonders when it all started. This convoluted dance of theirs. A prisoner of curses and wanderer of the forest were never meant to have met, and thus that might have been their greatest tragedy. The tension grows more palpable the closer she drifts, and one day she watches him searchingly, eyes conflicted and fervent.

 _You are cruel to entice me._

A gust of wind brews, disturbing the ground and swirling settled ash into a frenzy. His fingers grip the strands of red encircling his wrists, clenching so hard he thought the skin would break, split prettily like the fruits he ravished when not trapped in sleep or limbo. Something within him shudders as she keeps her gaze, the fire igniting so strong and high that it burned bright from the windows of his indigo soul.

 _Can you blame me?_

Temptation swirls in him as her mouth grew taut, pale lips pressed tight as her hands shift close to gather herself. Her feet form faint indents in the ash as she crosses the space to reach him, and as her fingers traverse down to brush a ribbon that looped around a sturdy branch to anchor him down he bites down a sigh. If she thought him cruel, then how was she to explain the agony that ran through him at the meagre distance she purposely left to pull them apart?

So, so close. They were barely apart. He sees the shaky puffs of breath that leave her lips and wonders absently if she would mind him sweeping down to press a yearning touch at the corners of her lip to warm her mouth. Gold eyes reflect an obvious struggle behind her poorly placed façade, fingers clammy and trembling against the twisting strips. It took all of her self-control to curb the urge to bridge the distance, the allure too much she could hardly think rationally.

Shadows claw their way out of the undergrowth, engulfing their feet as the sun disappears behind the clouds. Ash darken and glow like coals, threatening to swallow and wash her away to a place far and unknown, lest she continues to bridge the gap. A whispered want, the almost-touch of something, and she darts away before his fingers could grasp and curl around her own. Hurt flashes in his eyes, dulling at the intensity reflected back.

Something forlorn echoes faraway; the forest sways to the haunting call and the shadows recede just a little further. She blinks at him, quiet and pensive and sad, before slinking back into the ash. Frustration gnaws through him, stinging like cold abandonment, and as he watches her slip away he wonders when this game would stop.

The morning after he stirs awake at the wispy touches of resting strings. She stands before him, heedless of the encroaching shadows or darkened stumps of her feet, eyes still holding the same pretty inquisitiveness he found himself bounded to comply. A dream, it must be a dream. He stumbles, chains rattling as he pushes himself upright, swiping away dangling constraints in a vain attempt to meet her properly. It felt hard to move, his motions sluggish and slow as he ignores the piercing ache that ring from his bones.

She reaches for him; dainty fingers tentative as they cup his cheeks, quivering with temptation and all things unsaid. A soft feeble kiss, and she starts, golden eyes widening as she convulses, folding back into herself.

 _Oh._

Her eyes glaze over then, as though tired, and she collapses with a quiet grace of an animal falling to sleep. So very quietly. Antler tips knock against gnarly roots as she falls upon the bed of ash, and once again he is breathless, the low coil in his chest bursting as tears spring and slid down his already soaked cheeks. The ribbon slithers under his neck, squeezing harder as metal chains and prickling strings laugh at his foolishness, vines and roots holding him in place as he bows forward, shaking in disbelief.

Now he understands.

Grief pours through him, trickling through the thorns that protrude from his raw flesh. His gaze, hazy with tears, stare powerlessly at the unmoving body before him. Truly, he was a cruel, cruel being.

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...

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In the midst of the brewing storm and strong winds, a crack from the cursed tree that resided in the forest resounds, startling all who heard it. The wind howls louder, but it unable to disguise the deafening creak that signals the tree's descent. Another moan, its trunk trembling as something deep within the earth _snaps_. With a loud creak, the tree tilts to the side, branches swaying forward in a violent shatter of leaves and thorns. It topples no further, bent to the ground as though in mourning.

Upon its roots the broken body of a doe lies upon the bed of ash, still and at peace. Her eyes were closed, head resting on coarse roots as she continues to sleep an eternal sleep. A half bitten apple lays some ways from the fallen body, glistening weakly against the fading daylight.

…

 _She fails._

x

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A/N.

First completed fic of 2017! (And its angst born from a small thought bubble lol happy belated valentines day-)

It's been a long time since I wrote aph fic and I had a lot of fun with the vague-prosey style. Was going for a subtly-enticing undertone and I think I did pretty okay pulling it off. Only realised there were so many Nokken NorViet AU parallels in this halfway through haha I miss writing them.

Apple trees symbolise temptation, and thorny ones also have the additional meaning of deception. (Doesn't help that in symbolism apples are also the fruit of sin eh eh?) Apple trees are also sacred to Norse mythology, though for entirely different positive reasons that may/may not tie in with the fic.


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